


The Preacher

by FloodFeSTeR, FuckinPoind3xter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Awkward Romance, Bottom John, Character Death Fix, Childhood Trauma, Dean Needs A Hug, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, Forced Bonding, Hurt Dean, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), John Being an Asshole, John Needs A Hug, John-centric, Love Confessions, Memories, Memory Alteration, Pining John, Prayer, Protective John, Psychic Bond, Religious Conflict, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Sam Needs A Hug, Sexual Tension, Soul Bond, Spells & Enchantments, Teasing, Underage Drug Use, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckinPoind3xter/pseuds/FuckinPoind3xter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My bones are stained with sin, scorched from fires, broken by betrayals, cold in loneliness, soaked with blood, and still I keep fighting." </p><p>Avaar isn't a simple Hunter, but she says she is. She has a plan to fight against this rumored darkness. But its going to open old wounds; not just for her, but for Dean and Sam as well.</p><p>Because John Winchester always has secrets brought to the light, and these may very well finally tear this family apart. But not before he finds redemption, not before Avaar can make peace with what they did and not before Dean can finally forgive his father for everything he's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Preacher

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi hi!
> 
> Not my first Supernatural fic but it might as well be.
> 
> This is extremely fast paced for certain reason, mostly because there is no time for my little pairing here to blossom and become closer; details as we go 
> 
> My lovely co-author, FloodFeSTeR, will most likely be taking up some slack because I aaaaam basically a free-lance missionary and I disappear every now and again for obvious reasons.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Because John does need a little love, even though he is a total prick 98% of the time.

She's never been big on protecting people.

Of course, as a Hunter, its sort of her job but physically protecting someone from the monster she's supposed to be fighting. . .never been her favorite thing. Someone always got in the way or didn't listen to her, did or said something stupid enough to piss her off and there goes the whole ease of her routine.

She's feels those tiny hands tightening in the back of her coat, her own fingers tight around the hilt of her 44. and she's pretty sure she just ruined the cigarette in her mouth.

"God dammit," she snapped, ripping the cigarette from her mouth and looking at the crushed filter. "8.75," she grumbled. "Damn witches and their inability to grasp the concept of just how broke I am. . ."

A coven, looking to induct an innocent little girl into their ranks. She'd been at this for hours, mowing down every witch bitch that was in her way and kicking in every door that she could find, hunting for this little girl. Her mother was dense, thinking relying on her friends - who turned out to be witches - when her husband left was so smart; did she not think of what this would cost her? That no monsters help ever came for free?

Maybe she meant well, maybe she had found her own stupid sense of logic in this action, but had she really considered her daughters own say in this? Did she think it was just sunshine and rainbows, the greater good?

Avaar would admit, it was kind of surreal shooting at - what appeared to be for so many years - white picket housewives. Seeing them scream inhumanly, blood spreading through a cashmere cardigan and neon yellow shorts.

But she had a job to do.

"O holy hosts above, I call upon thee as a servant of Jesus Christ, to sanctify our actions this day in preparation for the fulfillment of the will of God," she started softly, gun raised and her free hand clenching tight over the intricately carved cross around her neck.

Avaar could hear the last one, which had taken seven bullets and was still kicking. Whatever spell she had used, whatever deal she had made, had sent this one into a ranting frenzy. When Avaar had entered the house, she had already sacrificed two of her fellow witches in some archaic ritual. She wished she could do something about the kids memories, her mothers, but there was only so much a Hunter could do.

"I call upon the great archangel Raphael, master of air, to open the way for this to be done. Let the fire of the Holy Spirit now descend that this being might be awakened to the world beyond and the life of earth, and infused with the power of the Holy Spirit."

And there she comes with her stringy fucking hair and her suburb mom clothes, and there was a mom somewhere in there; had she sold her soul to a demon as well? Or was she just some suburban bitch like all the others?

Avaar didn't care to find out.

She fired the bullets into the witches body, as many as she could managed as the bitch closed in. Her eyes were bright with fury and her veins stood out black against alabaster skin. She was yelling at Avaar, cursing her and her family, her future offspring, and she could hardly listen to this shit anymore.

But finally, halfway down the tight ass hallway, the witch finally screeched in a wet way and collapsed, writhing and stretching her hands out, dragging her nails down the wall. Avaar sighed and slowly lowered her gun, fingers flexing around the grip before she looked down at the child. She still had her face buried in Avaar's side, so it was hard to tell if she had seen anything or not.

"O Lord Jesus Christ, most merciful, Lord of earth we ask that you receive this child into your arms, that he might pass in safety from this crisis," she ejected the magazine, loaded a fresh one into the hilt. "As thou hast told us with infinite compassion: let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go prepare a place for you."

Her heels clicked as she approached the dying, writhing woman, hearing her moans of pain, her nails clawing at her chest; there was an odd brand there in the center, that glowed softly like rolling water in the sunlight.

"And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself: that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know."

The witch let out a loud, violent wail and her head snapped up, soulless eyes confirming the demon and Avaar felt a chill go up her spine at the sight.

"You wretched little whore," her voice was twisted and shrill, reminding her of an old hag instead of the vibrant woman she had used as a host. "The holy shall be the first to go! And then Darkness!"

Avaar cocked her head. "That's nice."

The bitches head snapped back and her jaw went slack, eyes rolling back as she began to seize. Avaar sighed softly as the demoness turned to ash, skin hardening then blackening, the ashes spreading over the floor as she died.

"By this sign thou art anointed with the grace of the atonement of Jesus Christ and thou art absolved of all past error and freed to take your place in the world he has prepared for us," she pulled the small vial of holy water from her coat pocket; could never make it through the last rites. "I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever: with my mouth will I make known thy faithfulness to all generations. For I have said, mercy shall be built up forever: thy faithfulness shalt thou establish in the very heavens. I have made a covenant with my chosen, I have sworn unto David my servant. Thy seed will I establish forever, and build up thy throne to all generations. Selah. And the heavens shall praise thy wonders, O Lord: thy faithfulness also in the congregation of the saints, for who in the heaven can be compared unto the Lord? Who among the sons of the mighty can be likened unto the Lord? God is greatly to be feared in the assembly of the saints, and to be had in reverence of all them that are about him."

It seemed tedious nowadays, especially with a child now reattached to her side, but Avaar still had a routine and a promise to fulfill. Plus, it pissed off demons and that was icing on the cake as far as she was concerned. So she performs their last rites, tossing a little holy water to go with that carved bullet and that's her day.

But they sure were fucking long.

"And thus do I commend thee into the arms of our Lord of earth, our Lord Jesus Christ, preserver of all mercy and reality, and the father creator. We give Him glory as we give you into His arms in everlasting peace, to be prepared to return into the denser reality of God the Father, creator of all. Amen, amen, amen."

The body finally gave its final cough, inky blackness seeping out of the ashes and through the floorboards, staining the old wood with a deformed outline of the corpse. Avaar tucked her holy water back into her coat, fingers running around the neck before she decided to return her attention to the child. It should have been the first thing she had done, but when she got into that zone. . .there was no pulling her out until she was finished.

"Hey," Avaar spoke softly, crouching down beside the child. "Hey. . .come on, kiddo, you're safe."

Even to Avaar, her tone was abrasive, but she couldn't help it; being a Hunter sacrificed any sense of comfort of feminine qualities she had, in her opinion. Where she was once so happy, so carefree, she'd been replaced by someone with more common sense, more logical thinking. She didn't have time for trivial things like she did six years ago.

She didn't have time to be. . .happy.

But this little girl did, she had all the time in the world and Avaar was going to make sure of that.

But the little girl wasn't moving, she was standing there and covering her face, sobbing softly into those tiny, dusty palms. Avaar cleared her throat a little and then sighed, pushing back the edge of her coat to tuck her pistol into its thigh holster. She grabbed those skinny wrists, brow furrowing at the burns up her arms; they hadn't been there a moment ago, had they?

"Hey, it's over, we can get you home now."

Why weren't her arms moving? Avaar was struggling to even get them to move, to get away from her face; she wasn't responding either, just had this unnerving, soft wail coming from her throat.

Had Avaar been too late? Was she gone? Or was this another trap?

"Are you okay?"

And the noises stopped.

The hallway went silent, not even Avaar's breath made a sound to penetrate this uncomfortable, thick thing.

Her fingers flexed around the little girls wrists before she slowly lowered her hands, swallowing thickly as she waited, hoping everything was. . .well, it was never okay, but still.

"You're pathetic," the little girl whispered into her hands.

Avaar's brow furrowed deeper. "Wh-What?"

The little girls head lifted from her hands and Avaar looked into fiery eyes, the flames flickering behind those tiny pupils, sparks in her bright blue irises. Avaar pushed herself to her feet and stumbled back into the wall behind her; her fingers twitched to her gun but this. . .it had been a child moments ago, right?

"You're pathetic," the little girl whispered. "You couldn't even save one soul from damnation. . .you couldn't even save your own father."

"Lauren," her voice shook, but Avaar didn't even know if this was the child anymore. "It's a bad dream. . .this is all a. . .a bad dream."

"You're going to burn for it all," Lauren whispered.

* * *

When she woke up, her skin was sweaty, but that was no surprise.

Avaar stared at the ceiling for a long time, fingers twitching at her sides. The sheet she had thrown over herself had been kicked away at some point and the fan above her head made her wet skin cold with every pass of the breeze. Her tongue peeked out over her bottom lip and Avaar slowly started to sit up, fingers bunching in the sheets as she propped herself up.

Another nightmare, another annoying night sweat, another problem she couldn't fix.

"I wish I drank," she mumbled and scrubbed a heavy hand over her face.

Avaar slung her legs over the edge of her bed and stretched her arms over her head as she stood, her shirt riding up her stomach as she padded towards the bathroom. She tugged the hair tie from her wrist and started threading her hair back from her face into a tall ponytail on the top of her head.

It was dark outside, the moon fat, thick and tinted red at one edge. It leeched the color from every corner of her apartment, save for the small kitchen which was completely dark.

She could clean to occupy her troubled mind, there were piles of clothes scattered around the corners of the rooms. Take-out boxes were on her dresser and coffee table, amidst the full ashtrays and she was slightly ashamed of the state of her small living area but she hadn't had the time. The past few weeks, with the rumor of this dark thing spreading, the monsters has been incredibly bold and more riled up than usual. Building their numbers and terrorizing the masses all at once, which benefited no one but the monsters.

Still, busy work kept Avaar's mind occupied.

She sighed and closed the bathroom door softly behind her once she was done, tugging on the waistband of her shorts as she walked. Her skin was still riddled with chills and she rubbed at them in a vain effort to make them disappear.

Same dream she had every once in awhile, where she can't do her damn job and she's sloppy. She remembers being so fresh, so inexperienced and dumb, but also ripe with vengeance and that did help when mowing down the big baddies that usual cropped up in her way.

Avaar pushed open the thick, velvety curtains that she had closed when she arrived home - why would she close one side and not the other? - and stared down at the lifeless street beneath her. The streetlight closest to her building sparked and the bulb was dead, in the distance Kansas City was bright with life and it made her yearn for simplicity. But she liked being alone, liked having an absence of friends and family, didn't need them getting hurt because of what she did and she also just didn't need the extra headache.

Monsters were easy, family was not.

She smacked her hands against her thighs and turned to her makeup table, flicking aside a 44. shell as she sat on her stool. The pistol - a bull barreled 44. magnum named That Gun - was lying to her right, halfway through its cleaning which made things difficult now that there was a gun digging into the back of her head.

Her eyes flickered up to the mirror, seeing the tall figure with bare, broad shoulders that trembled slightly with his hands. She could only catch the side of his face where a peppered beard swept his jaw, hard eyes narrowed down at her and lips lightly parted.

He jumped when her fingers strummed on the table top, and then she saw annoyance in the crease of his brow.

"Glad to see the spell worked," she hummed softly. "I thought for sure it was a dud."

"Who the fuck are you," he growled, voice deep and. . .she couldn't place the accent, but it was close by.

"Avaar," she paused. "I wouldn't expect you to remember me, John, but it's good to see you again."

The gun trembled once against the back of her head, her eyes watching his glitter with confusion in the white moonlight. His brow furrowed and he didn't lower the gun, but he did seem to relax a little more.

"You know me," he murmured.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," she caught the soft growl he gave. "John Winchester," she chuckled softly. "We have a lot of catching up to do."


End file.
